President Obama’s Dream Journal

The “American Idol” one again. I’m trying to sing “Let’s Stay Together” but no sound is coming out of my mouth. I look out at the judges and instead of Simon Cowell I see Bashar al-Assad. He claps, but I know he’s being ironic. The audience laughs at me.

September 17th

I get a call from a Hollywood producer. (Was it Harvey Weinstein? Can’t remember now) He says DreamWorks wants to adapt “The Audacity of Hope” into a big-budget movie with Denzel Washington as the lead. I tell Michelle and she says, “I love Denzel.” I feel jealous…?

Suddenly, I’m in a hot-air balloon passing over South Dakota. The sun is just starting to set; the view is beautiful. Something tells me we’re approaching Mount Rushmore and I look down excitedly. To my horror, I see all of the heads on Mount Rushmore are of John Boehner. Just four John Boehners, and they’re all laughing at me. I consider jumping out of the balloon.

September 18th

I’m posing for a holiday card with the fam but Malia won’t stop frowning. I ask her politely to smile and she refuses. Finally, she opens her mouth—she has braces. Michelle tells me not to worry, and I notice that Michelle has braces too. Slowly I reach my fingers to my mouth and touch my teeth—braces. Crazy.

September 19th

“American Idol.” I’m absolutely destroying “Sir Duke.” Like, every single note. Even Bashar is impressed. Then I look down and realize I’m not wearing any clothes. Me, the President—naked. Needless to say, I feel foolish and vulnerable. I quickly ask a P.A., “Who took my clothes?” but she won’t tell me—then I see him, peeking behind the curtain, holding my suit. Boehner.

I chase him, but when I turn the corner I’m in the chemistry lab at Punahou High School. I suddenly realize I haven’t studied and the final is today. If I don’t pass the class I can’t run for President (weird because I know I’m already President, but somehow I don’t know in the dream).

I panic and ask if I can use the restroom. My teacher says no—it’s on government shutdown.

September 20th

It’s raining in the Oval Office—inside the Oval Office. So weird.

September 21st

On the set of “Audacity.” Winona Ryder and I are hanging at craft services. Serious sparks. I tell her my best joke (the Pope one) and she’s laughing hard. “Wanna see my trailer?” she asks me.

Afraid to write more in case Michelle reads this.

September 22nd

I’m auditioning to be the new correspondent on “The Daily Show.” Jon tells me the role is mine—if I get a Bar Mitzvah. I’m conflicted. He reminds me that if I get the job I’ll never have to deal with Congress again.

Three months later, and I’m absolutely nailing my Torah portion. Like, hitting every note. After my speech on shellfish dietary restrictions (destroyed it), my rabbi walks up to the bimah and says I made my family proud. What a mensch.

Suddenly, we’re at the after-party and the theme is “Cars.” Not the vehicle, the Pixar movie. I tell Michelle I preferred “Toy Story” but she says I’ll just have to deal with it. Unusually snarky for her—I worry she knows about Winona.

I finally get back to “The Daily Show,” but when I walk inside the whole set has been painted red. Bizarre. I ask Jon what’s going on, and he tells me it’s too late—my spot’s been filled. I look behind him and see Boehner, still wearing a dress from his quinceañera.

I wake up covered in sweat.

September 23rd

Back on “American Idol.” It’s the final round, and the winner gets control of all three branches of government and a movie deal. I’m trying to explain to the audience that Obamacare and the Affordable Health Care Act are the same thing. Getting boos because my speech doesn’t rhyme.

I look out, expecting to see Bashar al-Assad or Boehner, but I notice an empty judge’s chair. It’s just sitting there. Like it’s waiting for me.

I walk off the stage and sit in the chair. The pleather feels good. I look down and realize I’m wearing a flowing black robe. Then I feel my head—powdered wig. I look to my left and right to discover that I’m flanked on each side by four Supreme Court Justices. Not the current ones—the best ones. Of all time. John Marshall’s directly to my left, cracking his knuckles, ready to rock. John Harlan just said something funny to Earl Warren; they’re both losing it. Ruth’s still here, obviously.

We’re like the All-Stars, the Harlem Globetrotters of the judicial branch. I’m pumped up, sure, but I also feel a sense of peace, of belonging, of purpose. My ethical analysis and calculated reason will actually be respected here. Maybe even cherished.

Mitt Romney walks onstage as the next act, and I start clapping ironically.

Photograph by Jewel Samad/AFP/Getty.

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